


To Awaken from the Fog

by wiltedartist



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:18:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2533901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wiltedartist/pseuds/wiltedartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as king is about as Alistair expected- unfortunately. Yet where will he doubts lead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Awaken from the Fog

“As her majesty dictates, I so wholeheartedly agree.” 

Alistair had been staring again. His target nowadays seemed to be walls so that no one would gather he didn't want to be there. It never worked, he was too soft hearted. Yet years of experience had finally made it less obvious, only his court advisers knew he was day dreaming and not concentrating. 

It was easy for him to forget his wife was the Hero of Ferelden. Not in the whole 'hero' sense, because people constantly buggered up and called Her Majesty the Hero instead. No, what was easy to forget was the sight of her covered in blood and gore and seeming to dance in it. He sometimes found himself lost in longing for the days where their lives were up for grabs, because he knew her the best in those times. There weren't any people to dissect, words to throw around, or ideas to get lost. Odelia was her best when she was without puppets to play. THAT was the woman he loved.

It was easy to forget why he was there sometimes. Seeing her hair neatly in a feathery stream down her back made her seem harmless. He knew she was comfortable this way, pretending and lying, and that disquieted him. She had never been a woman with perfect morality or one who had agreed with all he'd done- but the mask she wore for others never faltered outside of the battlefield.

So why should he bother? Was his normal thought. If he could fool most people and let his wife do all the talking, that'd be fine. Not to mention she was so very careful with the court, she refused to let Arl Eamon have his way if she could. She had been polite and respectful about Alistair's devotion to the man, but did not share it herself. So each and every attempt to reconnect to their Warden routes ended up in his loneliness, only the company of her faithful Mabari to remind him what it was like.

Sometimes he wondered if this is what he fought for. To sit on a throne and listen to policy. He hadn't even liked to sit in a chair and learn the chantry rules, but this? Was boring. Not to mention he never got a glimpse of his Odelia's best features – her complete obliviousness to human emotion. Teasing her was his favorite pastime, if only because it roused her to becoming a much more hidden individual underneath it. 

She noticed, though. Of course she noticed. When her hand sat atop his shoulder and he could feel her worry as he was startled away from his glancing. They were in his room, yet he had still not found comfort. His? He inwardly chided, Am I so unhappy I would disconnect her from me?

When he looked to her face he knew that was not the case. Long red hair that streamed, all out of place. Large orbs of emerald mixed with . . .some. . . other, especially pretty shade of 'green'. He smiled a little. When he looked to her it was hard to forget the citizens as they cheered in his presence, or the moments of treaty when change came, or even when supplies poured in and borders opened up. It was hard to forget that Odelia had given him a world of importance he had been terrified to accept....but now, it was hard to forget just how meaningful it could be.

She smiled. “Come now, Alistair, let me assuage your pain.”

His favorite part of being King was his Queen. Her touch was soft, and that reminded him that truthfully her delicate fingerwork was thanks to her assassin's touch, and her lips warm, even moreso when no lies spilled from it. She couldn't hide her true nature here.

Still he stared, and the Queen could tell. Disquiet was in her heart as well.

He had become accustomed to the sight of turquoise shimmering in the sunlight each morning. To red flares across yellow fabric, the color of her favorite court dress. Then one morning, it was not there.

He sat up, sure beyond anything that Odelia was merely dressing. Once or twice, she had not stirred him awake. She had recently helped him, he would do the same for her. Yet tiptoeing or running, he could not find her. Their bed chambers were empty. He checked the only place that made sense, the very edge of their wardrobe. 

He pulled each robe back, tenderly. Her deep pink robes for fall, with matching orange trimmed fur corset. Orlesian in the dress, but clearly Ferelden in the warm fur, muddled with belts and clasps. Then her deep green and tender brown dress, her most favorite winter attire for it's very thick fabric and it's tendency to slim her figure. Each piece drew back and he could recall a happy memory. He cursed his foolish whining. His naivete. His jokes about her being a ball and chain. 

She was the first person who ever tried to know him as Alistair. And for her- that had been tough. He had been the first person in her entire life she had tried to get to know. Cold, unfeeling, simple Odelia. . .had felt sympathy for the first time in his life while he was falling over his sword in grief. And he had been ungrateful, and grumpy, and dismissive. . .for what? For an experience that had truly not been awful, but required him to have faith in himself.

“My king would agree?” she would often say in court. He had always been thrown off at first, and so to camouflage himself he grew accustomed to agreeing with her without paying attention. A simple, “As her majesty dictates, I so wholeheartedly agree.” She had wanted him to rule with her, she had wanted him to like it. The way her face fell when she realized she had given him a role he didn't want had been one he wanted to take back. 'I'd have enjoyed it for you,' he thinks glibly. 'If you needed it so badly, I should have enjoyed it for it. . . '

At the back of a wardrobe there was a simple uniform of blue and grey, hanging and tarnished with dust. There was only one of them. At it's feet was a long bunch of fabric and a paper. When he reached for it, he realized that was not the case. Odelia's hair lay there, almost every inch in the ponytail that had been swiftly cut. The letter was written in her delicate and precise handwriting. 

' I hope our life together has been, for you, half as happy as mine. Forgive me. I forced you into something you did not want. Yet it was nice to dream for years that both of us had been loved and tended to properly, neither of us left alone or abandoned outright. You inspire happiness in the people that I have to pretend to hold. . . and because of that you cannot come with me. Darkness looms, ever since the outcome of Kirkwall. I must fight. I must do something. Your fight is here.

Surely, you will hate me even more, for leaving you in a place you did not ever want. Yet you are loved, Alistair, for the man that you are. Never have people so brazenly accepted you, as they have as the king. Treasure it. . .and I hope, you can forgive me one day.

You are the only person I have ever truly loved.

Odelia'

Alistair spent days reading that letter. At first, in his room, all he had done was cry. His knees buckled, his eyes stung. Odelia was gone. For every moment he had taken their life for granted, or even considered he did not love her with all his heart, he felt a jab of distinct pain and misery. He stood back up, after a time, with a new determination. For once, he did not look to the wall or away. He looked head on as the courts dragged on, and answered simply, 

“As her majesty would dictate, I wholeheartedly declare.”


End file.
